From Russia Without Love

by Stephen Templin

  Downtown Athens was such a confusing maze of one-way streets, particularly in the Kypseli neighborhood. He’d never been more thankful for Hannah’s GPS. He was less worried about getting a traffic ticket or ending up in a head-on collision, and more worried about the Albanians.

  Michael was still breathing heavily. “We made it, we made it,” he said.

  Chris didn’t hear Hannah’s phone ring, but she took it out and put it on speakerphone. It was Young. “Xander received a call from the Kypseli neighborhood, and now he’s mass texting a shitload of people to converge on that area. And Xander himself is en route, too. If you’re near Kypseli, you might want to consider getting the hell out.”

  “Already on it. We’ve got the package,” Hannah said before she ended the call.

  “What do these Albanians want with you, Michael?” Chris tossed to the backseat.

  “I… I think they’re working for the Russians,” Michael answered. He seemed to be getting his bearings.

  “Why would the Russians want you?”

  “Russia’s energy exports are the backbone of its economy,” Michael said. “They supply a quarter of Europe’s natural gas, allowing Russia to exert its influence on European politics.”

  “Lithuania, Estonia, Finland, and Latvia import a hundred percent of their gas from Russia,” Hannah added.

  “Right,” Michael said. “Greece imports at least half, and countries like Germany and Italy import more than a quarter from Russia.”

  In the rearview mirror, a speeding car closed in on them fast. “We might have company,” Chris said.

  Sonny prepared his pistol to fire out the back window. “I’m on it,” he said. The tailing car moved in closer. “They’re armed. These guys aren’t out collecting for the Red Cross.”

  The car neared them again, and Sonny pressed his pistol against the back window and fired through the glass. Michael yelped at the sound vibrating through the confines of the vehicle. The pursuing car swerved.

  “One of them is an Albanian I shot at earlier,” Sonny said.

  Hannah checked her phone. “I’ve got a text message from Young. It says Xander is receiving more text messages, and he’s sending another mass of texts. Young is still trying to decode the messages.”

  “I can decode the messages,” Sonny said. “He’s telling them to kill us.”

  “What is Xander’s location now?” Chris asked, throwing a quick look to Hannah.

  “Doesn’t say.”

  “We need to reach Olympus before Xander reaches us.”

  “No shit,” Sonny shouted. “A little help here?”

  Hannah turned and aimed her gun through the back window at their pursuers, as well. Unfortunately, they were now shooting back.

  Can this get any worse?

  A bullet penetrated the back window and struck the windshield between Chris and Hannah. Chris’s heart jumped, and he stopped wondering if their situation could get any worse.

  He turned west on Agiou Meletiou, a large two-way street, but just as he reached the intersection of Leoforos Konstantinoupolem, cars were stopped at a railroad crossing, waiting for the southbound metro to cross. Sitting at a train crossing was not an option. When Chris hit the intersection, he swung the BMW left, going south and putting the pedal to the metal. “I’m going to try to outrun the train to the next street before crossing over.”

  “That’s crazy,” Sonny said. “We’re not going to beat that train!”

  Hannah and Sonny shot at the two cars following them, but the cars didn’t back off, and returned fire.

  Chris continued to gain velocity, running neck and neck with the train. “We’re going to make it!”

  “We’re not going to make it,” Sonny shouted.

  “We’re going to make it,” Chris repeated, swerving around the car in front of him in order to push farther ahead. Now he was in front of the train, but there were no roads for him to cross, and if the road ahead filled up with cars, he wouldn’t be able to maintain his headway. Then an intersection, Sepolion, came into view, which crossed the tracks over to the other side.

  Sonny changed his tune. “We’re going to make it.”

  Chris wanted more speed, but there was no more.

  We’re not going to make it.

  Lord help us, please.

  6

  _______

  Chris ran off the road, and the car fishtailed as he turned right. The BMW straightened out on the road, and he barreled through a railroad-crossing barrier, breaking it off its joint. Then he crossed the tracks in front of the moving train, and he stomped the accelerator. The car wheels spun, losing traction. Hannah braced herself for a collision.

  Chris let up on the gas enough for the wheels to bite into the ground, and the car passed over the tracks.

  Michael, remaining low in the backseat, couldn’t see anything. “What? What happened?”

  “You don’t want to know,” Sonny said.

  Michael poked his head up, but Sonny shoved it back down.

  “You did it, Chris,” Hannah exclaimed. “You shook them off our tail.”

  “You southern boys really know how to haul moonshine,” Sonny said.

  Chris zigzagged through the streets before heading south on Voreiou Ipeirou. He exhaled long and hard, relieved to finally be out of the Albanians’ line of fire.

  “Why don’t the Europeans try to stop their dependency on Russia for natural gas?” Hannah asked Michael, picking their previous conversation right back up now that their six was clear.

  “Russia uses the gas money to buy politically connected companies in Europe,” Michael said, “and those companies donate to local politicians. Russia and Italy each invested five hundred million euros to fund projects in both countries.”

  “So it’s no coincidence Italy has supported Russia in Ukraine and has been opposed to sanctions against Russia,” she said.

  Sonny turned and Chris saw him wrinkle his face in the rearview mirror. “That commie gas can pay for a lot of troops and ammo to kill Ukrainians.”

  “So if you and others succeed in building the Trans-Adriatic Pipeline,” Chris said, “Azerbaijan could supply natural gas to Europe and decrease their dependency on Russia, weakening them.”

  “Exactly,” Michael said. “With sanctions against Russia for its military intervention in Ukraine and low oil prices, Russia needs the gas money now more than ever.”

  Chris tightened his grip on the wheel, his knuckles turning white. “So Russia pulls the strings behind 21D to kidnap you in an effort to stop the Trans-Adriatic Pipeline.”

  “Bastards,” Sonny muttered, watching out the back window again.

  Hannah shook her head. “Not good.”

  Chris assumed Hannah was referring to Michael’s kidnapping, but then a black Mercedes turned toward them, going the wrong way on a one-way street, set on a head-on collision course with the BMW.

  “Maybe they’re circling the area around the embassy, too,” Sonny said. “Waiting for us.”

  Foremost in Chris’s mind was surviving the impending head-on collision. He slammed the brakes and the ABS system engaged, the brake pedal pulsating under his foot as he steered away from the Mercedes. But there wasn’t enough space on the road to avoid the oncoming vehicle completely.

  “Brace for crash!” Chris called out, keeping his foot on the brakes to minimize the speed of impact. Within a second, the brake pumped more than ten times as the vehicle attempted to maintain control and keep the brakes from locking up. He made sure his hands were on the wheel and not obstructing the path of the air bag. He put his head back against the headrest and tried to relax before the heavyweight crunch.

  The front corner of the Mercedes struck the front corner of the BMW with a loud crack, and pieces of vehicle splashed over the road. Inside the BMW, air bags blew out, and the vehicle spun. Chris’s face, chest, and arms struck the hard pillow of air that hadn’t been there an instant earlier. The impact of the bag was so violent that he wondered why his
head was still attached, and his wrists burned from the speed at which the pillow had grazed his flesh. He pushed the air bag down with a hand, so he could see. The road ahead was clear, but it was jammed with traffic to the rear.

  Sonny caught his breath as if the wind had been knocked out of him. “Armed male in the Mercedes that just hit us,” he said.

  If Sonny spotted the armed man, it was likely the armed man had recognized them, too. Driving around in a car with bullet holes in it wasn’t helping them be covert. Smoke rose from under the BMW’s hood, and the engine had shut off. Chris attempted to start it, but it wouldn’t turn over. He tried again, but the engine didn’t respond.

  “Engine won’t start,” he told the others.

  “Armed male exiting the Mercedes,” Hannah said, pushing her air bag out of the way.

  “We’re in a shit state if we don’t get out and hoof it,” Sonny said. “Pronto.”

  “Let’s go,” Chris said.

  Sonny helped Michael out of the backseat, but Chris’s door wouldn’t budge. He crawled over the center console and followed Hannah through her door. Once outside, Sonny helped Michael move off the street while Hannah took aim behind their car. Chris followed the direction of her pistol to the black Mercedes, where the armed male stood, raising a pistol in Sonny and Michael’s direction. Hannah got off the first shot. She missed, but she was close enough that the enemy ducked out of sight before he could fire.

  Three pistol-wielding blond-haired men—who looked more Slavic than Greek—used their Mercedes for cover. One of them held his pistol in one hand and pulled out his phone with the other. A second Mercedes, also heading the wrong way on the street, stopped in the middle of the road, and more Slavs pointed their weapons in Chris and Hannah’s direction.

  Chris glanced over his shoulder to check on Sonny and Michael, and he caught a glimpse of Sonny’s foot disappearing between two buildings.

  “Let’s go, Hannah,” he said.

  “I’m right beside you.”

  They hurried away from the BMW and the street. The air around them erupted with bullets, and a brief stabbing sensation shot through his shoulder, a flash of pain running up his neck. It made the back of his head ache, but he was too busy to pay it much attention. He felt like a rabbit that had just been flushed out of its hole by a squad of hunters, and it was only a matter of time before he and Hannah ended up in a steaming bowl of rabbit stew.

  They dashed between the two buildings where Sonny and Michael had disappeared, and the air around them stopped snapping and crackling. Chris and Hannah ran west along the sidewalk of a one-way street, Sonny and Michael ahead of them—but they needed to go south to reach Olympus. It was only five hundred meters away, but it might as well have been five hundred kilometers.

  “Hannah, I need you to cover our asses while I run point,” Chris said.

  She nodded. “Got it.”

  Chris sprinted out in front of Sonny. “I’ll take point.”

  “Make it quick,” Sonny said, half carrying Michael.

  Up ahead and across the street was a thick little forest of trees. Chris stopped there and took a peek around the corner of a building. A black Mercedes was driving toward him. He led his team north.

  “You’re going the wrong way,” Sonny complained through clenched teeth.

  “They’re waiting for us between here and the embassy,” Chris said. “Need to try to circle around and find another way in.”

  As Chris led them north between buildings, men’s voices came from the south, speaking Russian. “Gde oni?” Where are they?

  Chris patrolled north through the concrete jungle until the Russian voices became distant to the south. He found a good hiding place under a landing of a staircase outside an apartment building. It was a tight fit, but it kept them out of sight for the most part.

  We need a vehicle.

  He signaled for the others to stay hidden while he searched. It was slim pickings, but parked on the street was a dark-blue Nissan Qashqai, a combination of a compact car, station wagon, and SUV. Chris picked the lock, hopped inside, and hot-wired the engine before driving to the others.

  Chris got out to let Hannah drive and helped Sonny and Michael into the rear before hurrying to the passenger seat and slamming the door behind him. She drove counterclockwise in a wide circle around the roads surrounding the embassy.

  Chris surveyed the streets for trouble but saw no sign of Xander, the Russians, or the Albanians. He looked back at Michael. “What do you know about Xander?”

  “He’s a Greek energy mogul with powerful Greek and American contacts, both liberal and conservative,” Michael said.

  “And he’s been on the phone with your kidnappers,” Chris told him.

  Michael seemed to slump down in his own skin. “I talked to him at the embassy party. He seemed like such a gentleman.”

  “He does leave a good first impression,” Chris agreed. “It’s the second impression that’s a killer.”

  Sonny grunted. “I didn’t like his first impression, either.”

  They circled around to four blocks south of Olympus. At a stoplight, Hannah checked her phone. “I got a text message from the chief. He wants us to proceed to Olympus as planned.”

  “Easy for him to say,” Chris said. Another black Mercedes came into view. “Black Mercedes to the north.”

  “I see him,” Sonny confirmed.

  Hannah drove calmly. “Did he see us?”

  “Don’t know,” Sonny said.

  “He’s running the red light,” Chris said, trying not to blow a gasket in his nerves. “They’re all around Olympus, waiting to ambush us. Either we can try to break through, or we can change course and try to make it to Minotaur.”

  Their present vehicle had no GPS, so Chris used the one on his phone and touched the screen, setting a new destination. “We have a better chance making it to Minotaur.” He gave directions.

  Hannah drove onto a roundabout for a brief moment before exiting and turning left, taking them southwest.

  Chris glanced at his phone. “The port leading to Minotaur is about seventeen klicks from here.”

  “The Mercedes is following us,” Sonny said. “The passenger is talking into a cell phone.”

  At the intersection of Epidavrou and Lenorman, a white BMW ran a red light and swung out beside them. Before Hannah could avoid the vehicle, the distinct sound of 7.62 mm bullets banged. The noise of the shots echoed off buildings, pumping up the intensity of the sound. The projectiles struck the rear passenger door next to Michael with the fury of a jackhammer, making Chris’s body shudder. The shots came so fast it almost sounded like full auto. He had been in gunfights with amateurs and professionals, and this sounded like the latter.

  His heart rate jumped and his breathing became shallow and rapid. He had no time to slow it all down, only time to react. He turned his head over his right shoulder and spotted the shooter. “Xander!”

  Michael was down on the floor, and Sonny returned fire, blasting through Michael’s window at Xander, but Xander had already ducked to avoid the salvo.

  From Chris’s angle, he couldn’t shoot Xander without possibly hitting a cluster of pedestrians, but he did have a clear shot at the driver. Chris pressed his pistol against the window, to prevent getting sprayed in the face with the glass, and squeezed the trigger. He thought he hit the driver with the first shot, but there was no immediate reaction as he continued to squeeze. His second shot clearly landed, spraying crimson on the shattered window. Chris fired again for good measure.

  The driver’s head flopped to the side, and Xander’s BMW veered off the road until it struck a building, crumpling the front of the vehicle and stopping it.

  Hannah sped forward, racing southwest. Chris checked the view to the rear. Xander’s white BMW sat dead on the side of the road.

  “Shit!” Sonny exclaimed.

  “Are you hit?” Chris asked, turning toward him.

  Sonny held one hand against Michael’s head an
d another on the side of his neck, his fingers feeling for a pulse. When he pulled his hands away, they were bloody. “At least one of Xander’s rounds penetrated the door. One of them hit Michael in the head,” Sonny said, sadness filling his voice. “He’s dead.”

  Chris’s soul dropped out of his body, and a heavy cloud of discouragement descended on him. The cloud was so thick he thought he might choke on it. As a child, while his parents were diplomats in Damascus, Chris and a classmate were kidnapped in front of their elementary school. Chris was later rescued, but Nikkia died in captivity. A part of Chris died with her that day, and the part that survived wished it had died, too. He’d packed away the sorrow he felt then, but seeing Michael’s dead body had opened up old wounds. Now he wanted to cry but didn’t have the energy.

  Hannah called the chief and reported. When she hung up, she said, “They want us to go to Minotaur.”

  The ride to the port of Pairaeus was a blur. Chris was too out of it to notice what had become of their shot-up vehicle. They were met by a small US Navy vessel, which shuttled them across the Mediterranean Sea, but while Chris went through the motions, it was as if the black cloud of despair had magically transported him from Athens to Crete.

  7

  _______

  Xander’s servant led Animus through the house to the master bedroom, where the walls were as white as the exterior of the mansion. The swinging windowed doors to his veranda were locked, but the curtains were open, displaying the Aegean Sea as it reflected the sapphire sky.

  “I’m checking my bug-out bag to make sure I have everything needed to sustain myself until we reach London and our mission cache there,” Xander said. “The Americans will be looking for us here. The Hellenic Police will be looking for us, too.” He took a look around. “I’m going to miss this house.” He peered out the window. “And the view.” His eyes returned to his bug-out bag. “But in this job, adapting is the key to survival, and adapt we must.”

  “Yes, sir.” Animus was going to miss Athens, too. He was born here, and although he thought he’d die in Athens, it now occurred to him he might die in London. Even if he survived, he might very well be the lone survivor. But dying was something Xander never talked about, and Animus didn’t dare to mention it for fear of crossing some unmarked line.